#no one wants to be touched that much in real life. RIGHT??????

[requiemforthepoets]

Would you be interested in writing something for Oscar? I feel like he would be the perfect guy to have your firsts with, so understanding and cute like imagine having your first kiss with him. He would be so understanding and would kiss you with so much care and ugh I need me a man like him☹️ would you be down to write something like that?

in a world full of wrong, you’re the only thing that’s right 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: the idea of falling in love scares you, but at the same time, you long for it. wanting to experience how it feels like having someone by your side.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for your request! i’m sorry that this one took days, i had already finished the original version of this one, but i was not happy with it so i scraped it off and decided to write a new one. i had also took some creative liberty if it’s alright with you. i hope that this one is up to your expectations. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, no use of y/n, traditional upbringing, reader is an only daughter, overthinking, anxiety, fear of falling in love, and some fluff

You had never been in a relationship before Oscar. In fact, you had no idea what being in love was even supposed to feel like at all. So when your friends came to you, venting about their partners or asking for some advice, you would just sit there, nodding along, and pretending to understand everything that they were saying. But the truth was that you were clueless. You had never experienced the ups and down that they spoke of. No fights over silly things, no making up with heartfelt apologies, no lingering fear of being left behind. Part of you had always wondered what it would feel like to have someone special, someone to lean on, but another part of you was terrified–utterly terrified of the vulnerability, terrified of the idea that maybe one day, that person you end up with could hurt you.

You had been raised in a traditional household, the kind where dating wasn’t just for fun, but that is meant to last with the intention of marriage. Your parents always told you to be very careful, that relationships were serious and sacred. It doesn’t help that you are an only child as well, so your parents can be really overprotective of you. So, when you found yourself daydreaming about having a boyfriend, the thought would always come with a sense of guilt. You’d see your friends with their partners and wish, even just for a second, that you could have that too. But then again, these fears would creep in–what if he cheated? What if he wasn’t who you thought he was? What if you weren’t enough? The doubts swirled around in your head constantly. But then, everything changed when you met Oscar.

You met him in a way that you never expected you would. It was during a vacation in Monaco with some friends. The week had been loud and chaotic–late night dinners, laughter, and a bit of madness here and there. Needing some peace and quiet, you decided to stroll around by yourself. The streets of Monaco were breathtaking, and you let yourself get lost in the gorgeous scenery, with your thoughts floating somewhere far away. So far that you didn’t even notice the guy speeding towards you on his bike. Before you knew it, he swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision, but you lost your balance and tumbled to the ground.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The voice was concerned but soft, and when you looked up, you saw a pair of worried eyes staring down at you. He had already jumped off his bike and was holding out his hand to help you up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Oscar said, pulling you to your feet gently. His touch was warm and cautious, as if he was afraid you’d break.

“No, no, I should have been paying attention,” you quickly brushed it off, though your heart was racing for more reasons than just the fall. Up close, he was…well, you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else, but he was strikingly handsome. You didn’t know if it was love at first sight or from the shock of falling, but something inside you shifted in that moment.

“You sure you’re okay? I feel terrible about this.” He frowned slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. “Let me take you to a hospital, just in case.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m fine, really. There’s no need for that.”

He didn’t seem convinced at all, but after some insistence, Oscar backed off. “Alright, if you’re sure. At least let me make it up to you. How about some coffee? My treat.”

Well, that’s pretty much how it all began. One coffee turned into another, then into long conversations about everything and nothing. You couldn’t quite believe how easy it was to talk to him. Usually you’d find yourself nervous around guys, but he was kind, thoughtful, and never made you feel uncomfortable and pressured. Slowly, those coffee dates turned into something more, and before you know it, Oscar had asked you to be his girlfriend. Though you couldn’t help but cringe when you thought back to the moment you said yes to him. You had never been so flustered, unsure of how to respond, that instead of a kiss like a normal person, you just gave him a hug. A damn hug. You had felt his arms wrap around you tightly, his laughter vibrating in his chest.

“So I take it that it’s a yes, then?” he had asked, his voice teasing but soft.

You had nodded into his shoulder, very embarrassed beyond belief. But Oscar being Oscar, he didn't care. He hadn’t even brought it up afterwards, as if he’d expect nothing more than that simple embrace–and that’s what you loved about him. Oscar never pushed you, never made you feel like you always had to rush into anything. He was patient and understanding in a way that felt comforting. Sometimes, late at night, you would lie next to him, just staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got so lucky. The fears you once had, the doubts that plagued your mind–none of them seemed to matter anymore every time you are with him.

One evening, after spending the day together exploring the city, you found yourselves sitting on a park bench, watching the sunset. It was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that you loved and felt like home.

“Do you ever wonder if this is all real?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. Oscar turned to look at you, his expression gentle. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…sometimes I just can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I’d be in a relationship like this. Felt overwhelming and surreal sometimes.” he smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his. “I get it. I never thought I’d meet someone like you either.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, squeezing your hand lightly. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

At that moment, you knew. You knew very well that all the fears you once had, all the time you had spent overthinking and countless anxiety–they didn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore. With Oscar, you felt safe, loved, and secured in a way you had never imagined. He wasn’t just your first boyfriend, he was your first in everything–the first person to show you what love really felt like.

Six months into your relationship with Oscar, you had managed to avoid what most people would consider a natural part of being a couple–kissing him on the lips. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, hell you definitely do want to kiss him so badly, to the point you had daydreamed about it plenty of times, thinking about how his lips might feel against yours. But every time you thought about it, your mind would spin, and your nerves would take over. You’d never kissed anyone before, and the idea of messing up, of completely not knowing what to do, terrified the shit out of you. Sure, you had kissed him on the cheeks, hugged him endlessly, but never once had your lips touched his. You couldn’t help but wonder how Oscar was so patient with you, how he never complained or pushed for more, he was very understanding in a way that made you feel safe. Sometimes, you even questioned how he could be satisfied or survived with just a few cheek kisses.

Yes, you had been raised in such a traditional household, but Oscar was special–so incredibly special–that the pressure you put on yourself to make the moment perfect felt overwhelming. Still, you knew that at some point, you’d have to gather the courage to just do it. But every time you tried to psych yourself up, you’d just freeze, thinking about it drove you crazy. There would be times where you’d hear people joke about you being a prude, or wonder aloud how anyone could go long without kissing their partner on the lips, but the truth was, you were just terrified.

Then came Baku. It was Oscar’s second win at the Baku Grand Prix, and you had traveled to the race with his family to cheer him on. The excitement in the air was evident as you stood by the barricades at the Parc Fermé, anxiously waiting for him to climb out of his car. Your heart raced as you watched him pull into the P1 space, his car coming to a stop, and pulled himself out of the cockpit.

Your heart nearly stopped when he stumbled slightly as he got on the top of his car, and you had to suppress the urge to vault over the barrier to make sure he was okay. But Oscar quickly steadied himself, he then pulled off his helmet and balaclava in one smooth motion, his hair a sweaty mess, but his eyes bright with victory. Oscar spotted you instantly, a wide grin breaking out across his face as he ran quickly towards you, and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in his arms. You held him tightly, feeling the energy and adrenaline coursing through him as he hugged you back.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his shoulder, the words almost lost in the noise of the crowd. “You were incredible.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands finding their place gently on your cheeks. His thumb brushed your skin softly, and for a brief moment, the noise of the world around you seemed to fade away. He gazed at you with so much love in his eyes, the kind that made your heart flutter. Oscar had always been patient, understanding, never once pressuring you into anything you weren’t ready for. He knew about your fears, about how you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, but you had never told him why. Even without knowing the full reason, he had always respected your space and waited for you to feel comfortable.

But something was different today. The way he looked at you was different, and you felt it too–a shift inside you, a calmness you hadn’t expected. You weren’t scared at this moment, not with him. Somehow, Oscar seemed to sense that change too. He smiled softly, his hands still cradling your face as he leaned in just slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, giving you the chance to back out if you needed to.

Your heart raced in your chest, feeling like it was gonna leap out from your chest, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of love, out of excitement, out of knowing that this was the moment. You smiled up at him, nodding gently. That was all he needed.

Oscar’s touch remained as gentle as ever, his hands caressing your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was familiar, comforting, something he’d done a thousand times before. Then, he kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle softly, your nerves starting to melt away. Then finally, he leaned down and kissed you on the lips.

The world seemed to stop as his lips met yours, soft and warm, and everything you had feared about this moment vanished. It wasn’t awkward or overwhelming like you had imagined–it was simple, perfect. Oscar kissed you gently, not rushing, not pushing for more than you were ready for. It was the kind of kiss that made you feel safe, like he was letting you know that this was just the beginning, and there was no need to rush. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling softly, sharing a private moment amidst the chaos of the race celebrations around you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Oscar teased you lightly, his voice warm and full of affection. You laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I guess not,” you whispered, hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Oscar smiled, kissing your forehead again, and you knew in that moment that no matter how scared you had been before, being with him made everything feel right.

Later that evening, after all the chaos of the podium celebrations, press interviews, and flood of congratulatory messages, you found yourself in a much quieter setting with Oscar and his family. The energy from the race still buzzed in the air, but there was a sense of calm now, a comfortable warmth that filled the room as you all gathered around for a private celebration. You felt so at home with his family, like you were part of the family, and in moments like these, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were to have Oscar and this incredible group of people who treated you with so much love.

Dinner was simple but perfect, the conversation flowing easily between stories of the race and light-hearted teasing. You were sitting beside Oscar, with your hand resting comfortably under the table, something that felt so natural now, like an unspoken connection between the two of you. He would glance over at you every now and then, giving you that boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat every time. The moment you shared earlier at the track still lingered in your mind–your first kiss. It felt surreal, but in the best way possible.

After the dinner, Oscar had asked if he can spend the remainder of the night with you alone, to have some private moment. His family agreed and a few teasing had been made as well, but you and Oscar just laughed. By then, you decided to return to the hotel, to have some private and alone time with each other. Oscar sat beside you on the couch, his arms draped casually around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers played lightly with a strand of your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting on his chest. The bustling noise of the city seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that kiss all night,” Oscar whispered suddenly, his voice low so only you could hear him. Your cheeks flushed, and you turned slightly to look up at him, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Yeah? What about our kiss?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It was worth the wait. I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day I met you. Being it during my win made it more special.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully, though the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle. “You’re just saying that.” Oscar chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “I’m serious. I’m not sure you realize how patient I’ve had to be. But you’re worth every second.”

You felt your heart was about to combust at his words, and you felt yourself melt a little more into his side. There was something about the way Oscar always knew how to make you feel special, how he could say the simplest things and make you feel like the most important person in the world.

You smiled up at him, your voice soft as you said, “I’m really glad it was you. I’ve always been scared of what it would be like, but you made it…perfect.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his eyes full of that warmth and affection you had come to adore. “That’s all I wanted. For it to feel right for you.” Leaning up slightly, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a surge of affection as you did so. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I’d wait a lifetime for you if I had to.” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

For the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[noobsoconfusing]

‘heartworm’_hamzahthefantastic

tired and sleepy conversations with your boyfriend who doesn’t shut the fuck up .

fluff, suggestive talk about martin, family ideas, cuddling in bed, established relationship.

>_<

one thing you noticed about your boyfriend is that he has many things inside his head, a raging –almost painful– need to tell you everything he is thinking about, and while you thank him for the trust, you can’t help but wonder if he analyses the things he says out loud before verbally vomiting them.

“y/n, are you awake?” hamzah’s voice came out soft and groggy, his low tone dragging in a whisper made you open your eyes almost so quick that it hurt.

“hmm, yes.” you replied, adjusting your sight to the dark room.

“do you…wanna talk?” he shifted on the bed, turning his body to face yours. he had a small smile as he looked at you. you felt warm.

the way his hair was messy, and his face so naturally familiar to you felt almost dreamy.

hamzah’s big sleepy eyes made your heart feel like a cooker bomb. weird comparison but to be honest you could almost feel the way it was going to explode anytime.

and god, you love him so much. unexplainably so damn much. he thought the same of you.

“cant sleep, huh?” you asked, getting closer to his body under the covers, but then you felt how one of your cats, probably blue, squealed. he was probably sound asleep between hamzah’s body and yourself, always looking for warmth. the protection of his cat parents

“mmm, nope, not really.” he sighed. “have so much stuff going on, you know? inside my mind, i mean.” he admitted, one of his hands travelled to your face, and he stroked your cheek only to feel some sort of contact. “so fuckin’ pretty, huh, you’re my pretty girl..”

you leaned into the touch like a needy pet, and he couldn’t help but smile, heart feeling full.

“whats inside your mind, hamzah?” you asked curiously.

although you were extremely tired and sleepy, hamzah always came first to you. soul intimacy was important, not only sex, and you wanted to know what was bothering him or keeping him awake at such indecent hours.

“you. always.” oh. “like, for real, y/n, and i don’t wanna sound obsessed, even though yeah, i am pretty much obsessed with you–,” he paused to swallow. your heart felt so heavy with a feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but only hamzah made you feel. “i am always thinking about you.”

to be reciprocated, to be seen. hamzah made you feel seen, as he pretty much matched your deep feelings for him. –oh, y/n, you match my freak!– his voice filled your head. so nice.

“i feel the same way” you bluntly said. “each day i feel like we have been dating for my whole life, because this crazy funny feeling never really goes away.” by that you meant, the exciting feeling of expectation and young love.

first love.

he giggled, low tone. “right! i know, it’s like, okay, like i feel like i am a kid in love, you know? all silly and nervous around you, but at the same time i feel like we have been married for ages!”

to be reciprocated, to be seen. to be in love.

“i love you, hamzah.” you admitted, your voice suddenly softer.

and he didn’t reply, instead, he lifted the covers all the way up till they were engulfing your bodies, the closeness was comforting, and his arms moved around your frame until a hug was crafted. so perfect and tender. his body was like a boiler, providing you of heat, almost like a heat pad for cramps… but man sized.

he looked at you, big round eyes silently speaking, hoping you hear them, –god i love you, i love you so much you’re my fucking world, i wanna spend my whole damn life by your side.– silent confession.

instead, he says;

“have you ever had tapeworms?” hamzah asks out of the blue.

you blink. blink twice. then three times. and then you sigh, remembering your boyfriend was just, well, just like that. it didn’t ruin the atmosphere though, you enjoyed… whatever the fuck he was trying to say.

“hmmm, i don’t think i have had tapeworms, no” you answer snuggling up to his bare chest.

hamzah hums. “it’s fine, me neither by the way, i just asked ‘cause whenever i think of you my heart feels like it’s got a tapeworm inside of it…”

silly, you thought. lovely.

“yeah. i think i know what you mean.”

“i think it’s in the way we match each other so fucking well, yeah? i never thought i could find a person that just… loves me… for what i am…” he said and you felt your heart skip a beat.

your eyebrows furrowed. “elaborate.”

“for instance, you’re my friend, but also my girlfriend, but also my wife, but also my best friend, and not only that, you’re also like, my life partner, you know?”

ugh, stupid fucking feelings. you felt so deeply about hamzah that your heart felt like it could burst out anytime.

“hey, i love you so much it’s almost overwhelming.” you admitted, melting into his touch. “for so long i thought nobody would ever notice me or listen to me or even just, be my friend. or try to take the time to understand me…” your voice lowered at the end of your sentence.

he groaned at how close you were. satisfaction, of course.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n.” he kissed the top of your head. “like, i also thought that martin would be my only friend forever, as scary as it sounds.” he laughed and you did too.

“hey! martin’s nice!” you defended your friend.

“i mean yeah, i love him too, but it’s different. not in the way i love you, and i know he doesn’t love me in the way he loves mandy.” he explained.

“yeah, i know.” you laughed sleepily, as you leaned onto hamzah’s body. it helped a ton that he slept shirtless because you liked the raw closeness.

“martin is cool, but if i had never met you, i would have blue balls and an empty heart!”

“and gay allegations, still.” you added, laughing.

“but most importantly blue balls..” hamzah said serious, with a sigh.

“huh?!”

“i can’t fuck martin. i can’t make love to martin, though, just think about it.”

“dude…” you said, trying not to burst out laughing out loud.

“i have thought about it, but only before meeting you, it’s just weird!” hamzah explained, with a nervous smile on his face.

“you don’t have to think about that, hamzah!” a smile creeped up on your lips. an awkward one.

“right, i know.” he defended himself-, “i don’t think about it anymore, i was just a lonely man before you, though.” ah, you knew that.

every time they could, mandy and martin made sure to tell you how much of a loner miserable man hamzah was. a painfully single dude. even the slushies would be constantly commenting jokes about it.

“because you’re weird that’s why…” you joked and he clicked his tongue. “that’s why i love you”

“you know, before you; it was my hand, lotion, tissues and me against the world.” he listed as if it was a great accomplishment.

as if it was something super fucking serious. to be fair, it was very serious to him.

“no video?” you joked. it felt so nice and genuine to talk about silly stuff like this with your man.

he stopped to think for a second. “nah, just my imagination. always imagined you though, even before meeting you i always imagined someone like you.” he kissed your forehead.

“wow, how romantic, it’s almost as if you’re not talking about beating your meat.”

as you both comfortably joked and laughed, a nice silence filled the room.

hamzah pulled you closer, which you thought was physically impossible, but still, your body thanked his devotion for physical affection.

his low voice broke the silence.

“y/n…”

“yes, hamzah?”

he sighed, holding your waist close to his own. you could feel him, feel him merging with your body, but it was nice, not really anything more than intimacy.

“i can’t wait to have a family with you.” he said, the weight of the confession leaving his chest felt so good.

your eyes opened wide. and you stuttered to reply.

“we are a family.” you said.

the cats, him, you. yeah, a family as god intended, right? but still, you knew what he meant. and you wanted it too.

“do you think we’ll be good parents?” he asked, the tone in his voice indicating he was being honest, being hopeful. he hoped for you to say yes so badly.

you thought for a moment…

“i think we’ll be okay, hamzah.” yeah.

“we’ll be okay, love.” he said, but it was almost as if he was trying to reassure himself.

hamzah wanted a big family, and he liked thinking about caring for the little humans you’d create together.

and the room filled with silence yet again, as you heard his calm breathing, you realised he had fallen asleep. the comfort of his embrace made you fall asleep as well.

hamzah felt so safe with you, so understood. never judged at all. he said weird stuff, but you always had a smile on your face. never grossed out by him, never angry, always loving.

it was nice. to be reciprocated, to be seen.

the heartworm inside his heart wiggled happy, eating his flesh and leaving a trace of only you.

>_<

hope u liked this. i did. heh.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you. 

Blood. 

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are. 

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun? 

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them. 

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake. 

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes. 

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress. 

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap. 

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze. 

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look. 

Two lines. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it. 

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over. 

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment. 

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of the Heart (Chapter 16) Human!Alastor x Married!Reader

Chapter Trigger Warnings: infidelity

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Alastor led you by your hand confidently through a sea of boxes and dim lights, the music growing louder as you went. Your eyes were trained on him, watching the halo of light reflect off his hair as he passed underneath light after light. If you had spared a moment to look around, you wouldn’t have seen much in the deep shadows. 

Voices and chatter joined the warm horns and strings, growing louder with each step you took. Alastor was eagerly pulling you along toward the sounds brought life to the space deeper in the building. At last, your eager partner stopped in front of a door. Just beyond it was a sea of noise. 

Your heart pounded at the prospect of people, all local to you, and out for a night on the town hidden in a watering hole. Each and every one of those people could very well could know you. 

They could know your husband. They could tell. 

Alastor had asked that you trust him. 

It took everything in you to fight against every part of your body that wanted you to cringe away in fear as he reached out for the door. Long fingers wrapped around the knob as his hand around yours gave a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s alright,” He spoke softly, as if trying not to scare a frightened prey animal.

A heartbeat passed and then the knob was turning with an ever so slight squeak. The door opened easily and Alastor pulled you through. 

You stood at his side, faced with a room that was nothing like what you had expected. The noise was louder now, and it sounded like you should be standing on the outskirts of the party. Instead, you were in a room. No, that wasn’t exactly right, you realized as you looked around. 

Boxes towered along the wall, in places stacked many high. The floor wasn’t nearly as well kept as you expected. Wax and polish extended only a few short feet into this small room, giving way to much more rustic and worn floors. Off to the side, a small table sat with a candle and glasses, waiting for the guests of the evening. 

With a start, you realized it was like a cubby off the main lounge that was hidden away by a curtain. Private and yet as close to a part of the party as you could ever hope to be while with Alastor.

The band’s music was clear, passing through the curtain with ease, along with the buzz of people, but you couldn’t see anyone. They couldn’t see you. Light filtered in from above and below the curtain, supplementing the naked overhead light, casting shadows about the room along with the warm light.

Alastor pulled you deeper into the room, closer to the table that recaptured your attention. A simple white table cloth was spread over the surface and atop it sat a vase with a red candle inside, flame flickering ever so softly. Glasses sat on the table with a tray of fruits, cheeses, spreads, crackers, and small bits of bread on it. 

There was a short woman who looked familiar next to the table, adding slices of smoked meat to the tray. Upon registering her and her sparkling dress, you darted your eyes to Alastor. You wanted to step closer to him, to seek shelter in him from this stranger but that would only make it look more like what you feared was going on. Instead, you stepped behind him, hoping to at least not be recognized. 

“About time you two get here,” the woman said, turning and putting her hands on her hips. 

Alastor knew the woman, you realized as his arm wrapped around your waist, far more familiar of a touch than what one would expect from a simple friend. His arm prevented any real attempts to hide, leaving you with little choice but to look to him for guidance. 

Alastor rolled his eyes at the woman, but the fondness in his face as he looked at her told you his show was more show than fact. He introduced you to the woman standing at the table, not bothering to drop his hand from your waist while he did so. “And this is my dear friend, Mimzy, the proprietress of this lovely establishment.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” you said as the woman looked between you and Alastor, her blonde eyebrow quirked high. Her face moved through emotions quickly, as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle in her head. 

“Mimzy was kind enough to loan us use of a private room so we could get out on the town without worrying about pesky eyes and their flapping tongues.” Alastor offered, hand finally dropping from your waist and giving you a short-lived moment to breathe before he took your hand in his again. 

“Well,” Mimzy said, clearing her throat. “I’ll leave you two to it.” Mimzy looked hard at where your hand joined his, raised her eyebrow somehow higher still. She said nothing about what she was seeing. Instead, she simply turned, shaking her head before giving Alastor one last look over her shoulder. “You owe me, Al- I got other shit to do then setting up your little night out.” 

“If I remember correctly,” Alastor’s smile was wide, eyes seeming to sparkle as you stood, taking in the sight of Alastor with a friend. She was a female friend, a rarity for men to have. It was surreal seeing how he was with friends, a side of him you had never seen, being that you and he had built this friendship- yes, it was just friendship, you told yourself, in secret. “I cleared out the room while you sat on the counter painting your nails.” 

It hurt. You didn’t know why it hurt, but it did. There was no reason for you to believe he was alone with her, but your heart hurt like there was. Was what you and Alastor were doing really nothing special? 

Perhaps he held Mimzy’s hand in his the same way he was holding yours? Was it all in your head? Maybe it was all alright? Maybe this was just how Alastor was, crossing social boundaries without a care for the wreckage he could leave in his path?

Was this what jealousy felt like? 

“Now missy,” Mimzy spared you a look from where she stood, hand on the curtain. “If this ol boy gives you any trouble, you come to Mimzy and I’ll straighten him right out. I don’t give a hoot what your situation is, that man right there better treat you right.” 

Perhaps what you had with Alastor was different?

She didn’t give you a chance to say anything, not that you knew what you’d say to her, before she stepped into the busy lounge with a flutter of the curtain. 

“My apologizes for her,” Alastor said, tugging you toward the table. “She’s always had a flair for dramatics.” 

“Oh, so women are dramatic now?” You teased, trying to get your bearings as Alastor stood behind a chair. He scooted it out and motioned for you to sit. 

“Oh, not women-” Alastor laughed as you settled into the seat. He continued speaking as he scooted you up to the table. “Just that one.” 

Only once he had you settled at the table did he take his own seat. Candle light danced over his face, warming his smile even more. It felt right, sitting here with him as he poured glasses of wine. Though you tried to relax, you couldn’t help the way your eyes scanned the curtain, looking for some rip that would reveal you to those on the other side. 

“You can relax,” Alastor’s soft smile captured your attention. “There are no tables near the curtain and the dancefloor isn’t near it either. The most someone ever does is brush it with their shoulder.” 

“Okay,” you tried to force yourself to do as he said. It wasn’t easy but as Alastor kept your attention on him, drawing you into a conversation about his work, your days and each of your childhood, you found you relaxed. 

Time passed easily, floating away on a sea of warm conversation and wine shared between the two of you, the first glass being replaced with a second. You felt good, really good, for perhaps the first time in your life. Alastor was a kind soul, and you marveled as he held his hand out for you, asking you to dance. He had never been harsh with you, never raising his voice or his hand to you. 

“Shall we dance?” Alastor asked, raising from his chair and holding his hand out to you as he reached your side. 

“I’m not terribly good,” you tried to wave off the idea. It wasn’t appropriate to dance with a man that wasn’t your husband when your husband wasn’t even present to supervise it. Did that matter, though? As you thought about it for a moment, you decided it didn’t. You were already crossing so many of society’s boundaries in your time with Alastor.

“I’m sure you’re more than adequate,” Alastor challenged as you surrendered your hand to his. A soft tug had you rising from your chair and stepping into the open space. There were marks all along the floor from where crates had sat for long periods of time. Your heart warmed, remembering how Alastor had moved things about the space, making it safe for your time with him. 

You tripped over your feet as Alastor pulled you around the floor, quick steps and eager encouragement driving away any shame that attempted to set up camp in your mind. The wine had you smiling, laughing lightly as you all but fell into Alastor’s arms as your legs tangled together. He caught you easily, finding his own joy in your clumsy steps and glee. 

Though he said he was only alright himself, it took only a few short minutes for you to realize he was far better than just alright. He skillfully moved you through space, leading you through dances you could only somewhat perform and compensating for your lack of grace or elegance with his own moves. 

Every time he placed his hands on you, he was mindful of your still aching ribs. You’d be sore later. Healing injuries would surely be aggravated but the joy of dancing with him was worth every flair of discomfort and twinge of pain in the moment. 

After a few glasses of wine, you struggled to care at all as you tripped over your own feet, laughter spilling freely from your lips as he held you upright, spinning you around and lifting you into the air. Your heart pounded in your chest from all the activity, but you were having the time of your life. Your healing ribs were little more than an annoyance, dulled by the wine shared between you.

“Another glass, darling?” Alastor asked as the music lulled between songs. 

“Please?” You answered before thinking twice, “If that’s alright, I mean.” 

“I’d not offer if it wasn’t,” Alastor said, as he split the last of the wine between the two glasses. 

“Hey, Baby!” a voice you knew shouted over the music, causing your glass to begin to slip from your fingers. Reality and pain came crashing down around you. The shock of hearing his voice in your safe little bubble felt like a blow directly to your still healing ribs. The illusion of warmth and reckless love shattered into a million little shards, leaving you once again standing in a dusty side room of a speakeasy. 

“Laurence?” You whisper as Alastor took the glass from your trembling hands before you had a chance to drop it. The sound of shattering glass and running wine surely could give away their hiding place, though he was certain it wouldn’t be noticed over the sound of the band. 

“Laurence, Doll!” Mimzy’s voice was high, carrying through the space. “I wasn’t expectin ya tonight.” 

Alastor’s hands came to rest on your arms as you looked wide eyed at the curtain, breath locked in your chest. 

“I finished early, thought I’d bring you this weekend’s rum a bit early since I was going to be stopping by, anyway.” Laurence’s voice got closer the more he talked. You needed to run, you needed to get out of here, but your feet felt cemented in place. 

“He said he’d be out of town until tomorrow,” you whisper, tears gathering in your eyes as you rip your eyes from the curtain to Alastor. He ran his hands up and down your arms, trying to keep your attention on him as your eyes flickered from him to the curtain and back. “We need to leave. I need to leave-” 

“Breathe.” Alastor whispered, trying to keep your attention on him. It wouldn’t do for you to run off, cause a scene. 

“Want the crates in the side room like usual?” Laurence was right on the other side of the curtain now. You could see his feet, just beyond the fall of the cloth. 

“There’s a cubby just under those boards,” Mimzy’s voice was close now too. You could see her feet near Laurence’s. 

“Alastor, what’s going on?” You whispered, stepping away from him as best you could as he maintained contact with you. 

“Shh,” Alastor ran his hands up your arms and cupped your cheek in both his as he stepped forward, closing the growing distance between the two of you, “I’ve got you. Mimzy’s got you. Trust us.” 

You nod, but he waits. 

“Okay,” you whisper finally, nodding again. 

Alastor leads you deeper into the room, blowing out the candle as he passes by. Each step was slow, careful and slightly shuffled to avoid his shoes clicking against the wooden floor. You mimicked him, walking on your toes to keep the heels of your shoes from clicking with your steps.

“Step up,” he held your hands in his as you climbed up on the stack of boxes, keeping you steady.

“Larry!” A woman’s shoes joined the pairs in front of the curtain. “All work and no play will make you a dull boy indeed.” 

Who was that? You glanced at the curtain, trying to look through the fabric that kept you out of sight but also prevented you from being able to see what happened beyond it. 

“Don’t worry, Love,” Laurence said as you watched his hands dipping in and out of view as he put bottles in under floorboards. If he leaned any more into the hole, would he be able to see you? “Just gotta unload this, and then I’m all yours all night long.” 

Wide eyes watched what little you could see under the curtain as you stood, hands clasped against your mouth to ensure your breathing was quiet enough, as if there was a risk of Laurence hearing it. 

The world felt like it spun around you. Until Alastor’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, you hadn’t realized you were swaying on your feet. It was his secure hold on you that kept you safe from the risk of falling to the ground. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered into the side of your head as he pulled you closer to his side. “I’ve got you.” 

“What’s going on?” You turned into him, seeking comfort from the only friend you had. You knew better, but with the fear and the wine, your body acted regardless of that fact. You let him hold you as you looked up at his eyes, realizing only then that he had at some point flipped the switch off, sending the little enclave into darkness lit only by the light filtering in from around the curtain. 

“Do you really want to know?” Alastor asked softly as Mimzy bantered with Laurence and the woman outside the curtain. You nodded, hands balling against his chest as you held onto his vest for some sort of stability. If it was physical or mental stability, you were seeking from him, you didn’t know. 

“Laurence runs hootch for Mimzy’s supplier. He got busted a few weeks ago and lost a load. That’s why he needed the loan- he had to cover the losses for his boss.” 

“Are you involved in it, too?” You whispered, looking up at him from the shelter you had taken in his arms. 

“Not typically.” Alastor shrugged. “I brew some, mostly as a hobby. I avoid running hootch unless Mimzy needs a favor. If I got caught, I’d get a lot more than a fine.” 

“Larry, Baby, ain’t you going to pay attention to me?” The woman’s voice was high and pouty. You should have felt some sort of way about some other woman calling your husband “Larry” and “baby” but more than anything you were confused. 

He hated to be called Larry. He hated pet names altogether. He was supposed to be out of town. 

“Don’t worry baby,” Laurence stood after replacing the boards, “I don’t gotta be home till tomorrow night.” 

“Oh, yeah?” The woman giggled.

“I’ll give you so much attention you’ll be screaming my name.” Laurence’s feet moved closer to the woman’s. Was he holding her, brazenly, out in the public as if he wasn’t a married man? “All. Night. Long.” 

You were a fool. He was making you his fool. You had done your wifely duties. He had use of your body. You made him meals, washed his clothes. You loved him, or at least, you thought you did. What did he give you in return? Not even loyalty to the vow you had made together before God and your families?

“I’m sorry,” Alastor whispered, watching the emotions play across your face. You did not love your husband, he knew that, but that did nothing to prevent the knife of betrayal from sinking into your heart. “It appears your husband is having an affair.” 

“It’s not fair,” you whispered as Laurence’s feet danced with the woman’s feet outside the curtain, steps taking their bodies closer than you had allowed Alastor to pull you until this moment. 

“What isn’t?” Alastor asked, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other up between your shoulders. He held you close, but not against him. Even now, he kept a few inches of space between your bodies. 

“That he can just have an affair out in the open and what? Nothing happens to him? If anyone notices, they’ll blame me for it. But…” 

“But?” Alastor’s heart beat faster in his chest. Why? He wasn’t sure. The rush he had only experienced when closing in on a hurt coursed through his veins as he looked down at you, studying every move you made. 

That must have been it. This game he was playing with you was just another hunt, was it not? He was closing in on his prey. That was it. That had to be it. 

Your hands moved against his chest as you slipped your ring free from your finger, wrapping the simple jeweled band in your hand. “If I’m found to be having an affair, no matter how discrete I keep it, I’m demonized just the same.”

“We live in a world of double standards,” Alastor murmured. “It’s a good thing you’re not having an affair.” 

“What if I wanted to?” You ask, looking up at him again, “What if I wanted this thing we’re dancing around to be real?”

You lean into him, standing on your tiptoes as you brace yourself on his chest. Eyes not daring to leave his face, flickering between his warm eyes and the soft smile on his lips. 

Never had you felt like this. Was it the wine? No, even when Laurence had liquored you up, you never longed for the feeling of his lips against yours. You couldn’t remember a time where you longed for the feeling of someone’s lips against yours. 

Laurence had been your first kiss. He was your first everything, and that made your heart pound even harder in your chest as his too brash laugh sounded behind the curtains. You probably hadn’t been your husband’s first anything, other than wife. You clearly were not his last either. 

Laurence could have his affair, your wine addled mind decided. He could have his dangerous side business and his money troubles. That was fine as long as you got to feel Alastor’s arms wrapped around you and discover how it feels to kiss someone you wanted to kiss. 

“No,” Alastor whispered, finger coming to rest against your lips as you moved to close the distance. 

“I’m sorry.” You jerked back, stumbling. Alastor held safe, steading you with an arm around your waist. “I- I misread the-”

“You didn’t,” Alastor whispered. “I simply do not wish for you to do something you may come to regret under the influence of wine and a broken heart.”

“I won’t.” You promise, “I’ve been thinking about this a long time,” you lie. 

Alastor’s hand returns to your face, fingers curling under your chin as he rubs his thumb across your lower lip, a smile on his face. “You have so much more to lose in this than I do,” his voice was a soft whisper, hard to hear over the sound of the band and the woman outside the curtain fawning over your husband, “I’m not rejecting you. Mother simply raised me to not kiss a woman the first time when we both been hitting the sauce.”

“Alastor,” you whisper, lips moving against his thumb as tears fell from your eyes. “It’s not fair.” 

“What isn’t?” He asked as he let his hands trail down your arms as he stepped off the crate. Hands wrapped around your waist as he easily lifted you off the crate, settling your feet on the ground slowly, ensuring your heels didn’t click against the floor. Reaching up, his always soft touch wiped away the tears that seemed to run down your face in a constant stream. 

“He gets to have whatever he wants, but I finally want someone and I can’t,”

“No one is saying you can’t, my dear.” Alastor rested his forehead against yours for a moment, knowing his words were not true. Everyone was saying you couldn’t, but he would only say you couldn’t right now. It was better for him, he told himself, that your heart yearns for him a little longer. In the back of his head, he heard his mother’s voice telling him not to lie to her. How strange, considering he wasn’t. “Just that our first kiss will not be in this situation.” 

“Is it alright?” You ask, knowing the answer was ‘no’. Nothing would be alright again. You’d shown Alastor too much. You’d seen too much. There was no going back from what you knew tonight. 

“It will be,” Alastor said as he reached out, entwining his fingers in yours as he slowly pulled you toward the door leading deeper into the back room. “I promise you, it will be alright.” 

You wanted to believe him. 

Next?

[genderqueerdykes]

i think people who doesnt like men and despise them are just traumatized. i mean its the experience of being mistreated for years that it makes them unable to trust men again. their reactions is maybe too harsh but i can see it being "i just doesnt want to be hurt anymore"

i agree with this take and i don't care if that bugs people

it is okay for a person to say that they have experienced trauma due to the current patriarchy we live under. it's okay to say that. however it's not okay to project one's trauma with those specific things on to every man they encounter. we must not project our trauma on to people who are not hurting us. it does not help us heal. it keeps us trapped in the cycle of negative thought loops, paranoia, fear and disgust

i agree with you completely, people who take this trauma to the extreme without reflecting on their experiences and admitting that the trauma was at the hands of that one person, those people, or that organization just lose they ability to trust an entire gender and decide that pathologically avoiding and hating men is the way to move on and cope. it's not, it never is. to avoid one's trigger for the rest of one's life is to not going to help someone get over it. it has to be addressed at one point or another

there are many men out there who are horrible but there are horrible people of any gender. our current patriarchal society is flawed because we designed a structure built around worshipping men and placing them in positions of power over everyone, especially women, but only if they fit into a narrow box of what a man 'should' look, act and sound like. we torture men, women and everyone else in this society.

men are forced to be the 'perfect' man in order to be validated and accepted as 'real' men. men cannot have long hair or else they 'look like a girl' or are 'too faggy'. men have to be physically fit or else people are ashamed of them or tell them they are unattractive. men are forced to be the 'man of the house', boys are forced into this at young ages. men are only allowed to dress in certain ways depending on one's culture. in the US men have to wear very plain clothes with muted colors. gestures and mannerisms are also scrutinized as well as career choices. only 'masculine' career choices are approved of

we place insecure men into positions of power and tell them to control everyone and make sure that women don't get those same rights and abilities and that's a huge issue but not every man is doing this. our issue with men is systemic due to the patriarchy we live under- men are not genetically or inherently violent, evil or shitty. we are grooming men and certain men catch on to the programming and take it very seriously and many wish to live outside of it in order to be themselves

the way we treat women in this patriarchal society is abysmal. it is shameful to behold- yes women are treated in an absolutely subhuman fashion in most regards of life when it comes to what we experience. it's maddening. but we have to understand that if we stop programming men to behave this way, this will not continue to happen anywhere near as badly as it's happening right now

the average man you meet on the street is likely not a danger to you at all whatsoever. most people aren't. most men don't really want to be a macho stereotype. most men just want to go about their own personal interests. it's okay for them to do so its their right. opening up one's self to average men who are honest and in touch with their interests is pretty eye opening- men also come in all kinds just like anyone else. men can be gentle and caring just as much as they can be difficult to be around. men are people

i agree with you. people project their trauma of what theyve gone through on to people who have not hurt them and it's not a good way to approach community and how one interacts with the world. it's fine to call out men when they do something shitty, when they're misogynistic, when they're being violent, but we also have to let men be gentle, quiet, caring, creative, passionate, loving and so on. because men are capable of those things. it's that simple

hope you have a great day, thanks for stopping by to chat

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Invader Zim

Character: Tak

Pairing: Romantic

Type of Fic: Concept

(Optional) Other info I should know: Gender-neutral human reader

Sure! Hope you like it :) I rewatched her episode for this.

Yandere! Tak with Human! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Isolation, Secret recordings, Dehumanization, Mind control/Mind tricks, Implied murder, Forced "relationship."

Cunning, ruthless, and deeply vindictive... It's easy to see Tak as more serious than Zim.

She's much more advanced in her tech and one can assume she'd be capable as an invader.

If Zim didn't ruin it for her.

Her being with a human would be strange for her.

After all, she doesn't understand human affection or behavior.

She didn't think she cared, either.

Not until she met you, someone close with either Dib or Zim.

Originally her goal for interacting with you was information.

Her disguise is convincing compared to Zim's, mostly because hers was proper.

She doesn't understand humans but you seem to fascinate the Irken.

Not going to lie... Tak is infinitely more capable of securing her obsession than Zim.

She can easily stalk and remember your routines with MiMi.

MiMi is Tak's SIR Unit, but when disguised the bot just seems like a cat.

So while you think Tak's just a cat person and her cat seems really interested in you...

She's actually spying on you.

Of course, at first it's to know more info about Zim.

You're either close with the male Irken or his nemesis, Dib.

Which means you must have info.

Instead, she has a ton of footage of your routines and who you talk to through MiMi.

Along with a lot of footage that includes you petting MiMi, which wasn't what she was looking for at all.

Tak herself is your classmate in school.

For the sake of this concept of course, this is an AU where you're a senior in high school or you're in college.

She ends up following you to every class, keeping a cautious eye on you.

Tak's known to many as just, y'know, the goth girl.

Her human disguise has that appearance and many find her strange.

Some may even see her as appealing.

Tak is only interested in one human.

You.

She isn't even sure why.

Humans are just the disgusting life forms on this planet.

Why does she find this one interesting?

She shows to be distant around at times, other times she tries to engage in conversation.

Although her speech with you seems... off... a bit too eager.

She wouldn't harm you.

No, she doesn't think humans show affection through violence.

The only reason she's violent with Zim is because she hates him.

She probably knows how humans show affection.

Does she understand the purpose? Not entirely.

Doesn't matter much to her.

She tries to deny the idea of liking you.

However... When in her ship, she finds herself scrolling through the footage MiMi took of you.

She will admit... you're cute... for a human.

Due to Irken not having courting or romantic practices like humans, her views of you are twisted.

She probably thinks having a partner is like having a pet... or entertainment.

She's seen human courting before... the internet database she hacks into helps with that

But she struggles understanding the real meaning behind it, even if she imagines doing it with you.

It's quite literally alien to her.

That might not stop her from replicating it, though.

Tak may mimic human courting to try and be closer to you.

Just to satisfy her strange curiosity.

You'll see this when she gives you gifts she's heard you wanted.

Of course... She stole it with MiMi, but it's the thought that counts, right?

She even tries replicating physical touch, like hugs or a hand around the waist.

Feels weird but... She's trying.

In terms of kissing? She'd probably stay away from that for the most part.

Although, when she feels she's had enough of 'taking things slow'... She's just going to abduct you.

Similar to Zim, she plans to keep you in a cell with MiMi watching your every move.

She may even make you walk in there yourself as she's shown to have some sort of mind trick powers.

Said powers are actually how she gets you gifts, food, and others to not question your disappearance.

Why should they worry?

They no longer need to do that.

Such manipulation is how she gets her way without too much violence, which could draw attention.

People like Dib and Zim could notice.

But she'll probably find other ways to keep them out of her way.

Examples include an injury of some kind... or even death (Especially for Zim).

Tak plans everything, so others finding out about you will be easy for her to cover up for the most part.

You're scared enough when Tak, whom you thought was your friend, kidnapped you.

Yet you're even more scared when she reveals herself as her Irken form, an alien smaller than you yet still quite capable of harm.

She'd probably stay her Irken form around you in private, not caring much about you seeing her now.

Scared? Understandable.

But if she went through all this trouble of 'courting' and caging you... Then it must mean she cares, right?

You doubt that.

She'd probably do things like pet you or hold you close to him.

She may even praise you, dehumanizing you into a pet.

She sort of sees the appeal now.

She likes having control over you, a human.

Your species is lesser to her...

You should feel grateful she's 'pampering' you.

It irritates her when you sit in the corner and sob that wretched salty water.

Do you need more affection?

More pets? Hugs? That kiss thing humans do?

She doesn't particularly enjoy it... but it is a bit endearing to see how you react.

Tak blames you for catching her attention.

Yet... You'll prove useful.

Her first step is going along with her current plan.

She'll get rid of Zim... and Dib for that matter.

Then she'll claim the Earth as her own to impress The Tallest.

After that?

Well... After that you're coming home with her.

She thinks she's courted her human correctly.

After all, now you're hers!

You'll live in the cell she made for you and stockpile supplies...

Then you'll go to your new home with her...

Her beloved human pet... or is it a partner in your culture? She still doesn't quite understand.

[mykaelaaa]

lesson learned

✰ lee teaches you how to handle a weapon but you kept getting distracted

✰warnings: guns, crimes, suggestive

✰words: 2.2k

"we have the entire forest around us and live in the woods. who's even gonna catch us?"

it was just simple banter back and forth. except today it seemed a bit more unfair, mostly for you.

it sparked after you read an article about a break-in near your neighborhood.

"listen to this one," you announced the seventh reading session in the past five minutes to lee, not certain if she was genuinely immersed or lost track by the time you finished with the first story.

"a woman suffered life threatening injuries around late night hours while her husband was out of town. they stole cash and jewelry and left without a trace," you quickly passed through the story, turning head in disapproval.

"great, hope FBI has spare guns for the love of your life," you added jokingly, hoping she just might consider it an option.

with closed news tab and a slight bitter feeling left by the nearby crime, you run your eyes over to your unbothered girlfriend. post afternoon nap fashion on display. lazily done ponytail, chapped lips and one of your old hoodies.

she probably thinks she can just teleport from her office to the cabin if you're in danger only if she thinks really hard about it. so it doesn't concern her much.

and that's how it began. neither of you letting it slide easily.

how do you argue with an intelligence officer who holds the highest scores in top-secret exams out of the whole squad for years in a row? and the worst part is she wasn't even bragging, it was a walk in the park for her.

"no."

"lee, think about it-"

"-no, i won't do that. it's not safe and you might get hurt." lee led the conversation flowing with logic and as much as you wanted to exploit the girlfriend privilege and have her drop the attitude or else she can start planning her week on the couch, there are not many ways for you to win this argument.

your begging attempts didn't work for some unknown reason. you just wanted her to show you how to defend yourself, just in case you get caught up in a bad situation.

and who can be a better mentor than lee harker herself?

she bears the patience, the charm, the looks, the wit. all except one thing, she's stubborn loser that cares too much for you.

you were assured it would be no fuss because, in most cases, she lets you get away with many things and not much convincing. it usually starts with a fake, heavy sigh that tries to disguise the fact you already won her over the second you said "can we" followed by "fine, we can do that i guess".

the win-loss ratio goes heavily in your favor.

"i mean, lee, imagine this," you said, putting your phone down to be taken more seriously. "you, real deal FBI agent working overnight on top secret case and me, your average local barista home alone?"

"you're not average," lee stated convincingly, now her eyes locking with yours to further prove it.

modest chuckle left you but you can't falter. not now.

"what if something happens? the headlines being "officers cabin raided; partner had no idea how to defend herself". kind of embarrassing, right?"

she shrugged not fully convinced, again absorbed in the detective game on her phone you made her addicted to.

"not really. many people don't know how to defend themselves nowadays."

she both missed and had a point.

as you took the last sip of the coffee and softly slammed down the mug knowing it will make her look up from her phone, you said "well that settles it then."

and maybe if you add a touch of dramatic scenario, she'd get it.

"if someone hires a hitman, reason being me having super-important-intel-full girlfriend then i won't know how to defend myself and die."

which is partially your fault for wanting to know every single detail about the cases she is working on.

she frowned, putting her phone aside. disappointment clear by the look on her face at the terrible scenario you just made up.

"what? no. what? don't say that."

"it is kind of true, though." you got up carrying your mug to the kitchen. the look you shot over the shoulder made her sigh.

jackpot.

you caught lee looking around the house, chewing on her lip. hands fidgeting in the pocket of her hoodie. eyes searching for nothing in particular but her mind was.

her gaze lingered a bit longer at the fluffy, ruffled blanket near the fireplace she got from you with "FBI Agent Off Duty" sewn into it. even if it sounded incredibly corny she would take a bullet for it, quite literally.

chair screeched against the wooden floor and lee beelined towards her office without a word.

sound of drawers opening and closing slipped through the walls for a minute up until it got suspiciously quiet.

right when you were about to check if she needed helping hand, you stopped to find her figure leaning against the doorway.

jacket on and holster attached to her hip hanging loosely as she held two heavy winter jackets in each hand, presenting them to you. it was hardly that cold outside but she went that extra mile.

"which one do you want?" it's not much of a hassle choosing between her FBI jacket and yours, a bland one on discount.

your answer was fairly delayed because it took some strength to look away from all that officer look going on that often gets you going. her in strictly business outfits are reserved for the work-cramped mornings and nights, not on free days like this one.

"i-i'll take the one that wasn't on discount three years ago." it made her snicker like she saw that answer coming.

you reached to take the jacket first but she stopped you, "turn around first."

"what for?"

lee didn't care to explain why but instead turned you around swiftly by the hips and kept her hands there. her front against your back as she bent her knees slightly to adjust to your height. hair tickling you and cheek brushing against yours.

she can be sly if she wants to.

out of thin air, she pulled out another holster to wrap it around your waist. you concentrated on the way her fingers adjusted it, easy like breathing. speaking of it, lee's face was terribly close to yours. with just a little push forward you would have kissed the corner of her lips.

but you opted to tease her instead, squinting your eyes in suspicion.

"is this how you help interns too?"

that earned you a quick side glance and a pair of raised brows, sort of shocked you'd ask that. do you think she's all that immoral when away from home? does she need to prove it to you?

she turned you around again with more force, face to face with you. her bangs tickled your forehead and you swallowed nervously. looking down at her final maneuvers at strapping you in safely.

veiny hands that buckled the belt with precision, a blend of her unique feminine yet masculine perfume, the heat rising between you.

"i don't do interns."

"you don't do interns?"

lee either ignored you or didn't hear you. she raised her head but still kept gaze lowered, satisfied with her handiwork.

"here," she grabbed her thrown FBI jacket from the couch.

"so what do you do then? baristas?"

"you said you wanted me to show you how to handle a gun."

"i did. you know i'm just kidding lee." you pulled her closer by the hand while snatching the jacket with the other. high quality material hugged your body perfectly. plus points for smelling like her.

it's not often lee sees you in her clothes like this. she would be lying if she said it didn't make her feel warm inside. and whatever else love brings.

"shall we?"

✧ ✧

it resembled professional training, except you were surrounded by the comfort of your home.

and lee was far from just any typical instructor.

she was adamant about teaching you the basics and her dominant side was slipping through the cracks. you didn't mind, not one bit.

after scanning the forest carefully and picking a tree that will serve as the target, lee ordered you where to stand and what to do.

something about your girlfriend bossing you around did a toll on you.

"see where my fingers are? that's the good way to hold it," lee explained, using herself as a reliable example. she kept unnecessary long eye contact with you that made you feel small.

"did you get it?" she questioned with a steady tone.

you nodded too quickly, "yes, yes. i can do it on my own."

that was a lie.

perhaps this wasn't the best idea, and you should rather take classes with someone who doesn't have the same hands that make you see stars almost every night.

and thank god she doesn't do interns.

at first, you battled with the weight of it. lee moved quietly behind you, watching you struggle to recall the correct position. you felt her hands traveling all the way to yours and softly wrapping around them. they were warm to touch, a harsh contrast to the outside breeze and cold metal of the gun.

she guided your fingers to where they were supposed to rest. a shiver passed right through you and you knew who to blame.

"ease off on the grip for me."

you breathed out harshly, unaware you've been keeping it in this whole time. lee didn't notice, sound was muffled by the leaves rustling.

but she did everything else. your hands were trembling under her hold and you held your breath for too long. she didn't understand why. she owned endless patience, especially when it came to you.

she wasn't the most skilled when it came to comforting but at least there was a lot of effort present.

"it's okay, i'm here," her words brushed past your ear, causing you to nearly drop the gun. she can crack a decades old cold case but not comprehend the effect she has on you.

"i didn't know how to use it either but i learned eventually," lee added.

all you did was nod and she wasn't satisfied with that reaction.

"look at me," sounded more authoritative than she wanted it to be. but you didn't dare to turn your face in her direction or else you might end up kissing her. or something worse. and you knew it would come full circle to bite you back.

with inhuman manner and precision, she snatched the gun from your weak grip, simultaneously letting the other land on your cheek, making you face her.

"are you cold?"

"of course not, i got your jacket on," you stated as matter of a fact.

"what is it then?"

"what are you talking about?" you laughed maybe too wildly trying to avoid her gaze.

lee dealt with many liars and you got something similar going on.

"you're distracted," lee stated, not leaving any room for your excuses. it was a plain observation and a correct one.

what a genius. you rolled your eyes, suddenly finding a tree branch interesting to stare at, deciding you can't keep this facade up any longer.

"it's you lee. you're a distraction."

"me?" just a tad of hurt in her voice apparent. probably thinking she wasn't good enough of a teacher. if only you could swap places with her right now instead of explaining yourself.

"yes. you," your hands sneaked up to cup her face, dragging against a rough material and for a second you leaned in forward. you lured her in so effortlessly. she mirrored your movements, eager breaths meeting in the middle but you backed away. not allowing her to kiss you.

you chuckled meanly, playing with your lips she kept staring at like she was about to snap. you left the kiss hung in the air and lee was ready to chase it.

"i don't really care about the lesson right now to be honest."

"i figured," lee barely finished the sentence before she pulled you in. both lips cold and soft. it was simple yet such a complex mix of everything.

her shoulders slumped at ease right as and you deepened the kiss further. her hands gripping your sides. hunger was spilling out from both bodies and eventually someone had to bite the bullet and move it inside the house.

neither was down let go, too breathless from a brief makeout. much bigger shame for a trained officer with good endurance who got all her air knocked out by her girlfriend.

"i thought you'd take it more seriously, you know," you teased, smile spreading across your lips.

"i did. this is a reward for not shooting me," she shot back matching your grin. "and i'll have to keep that jacket under a lock."

"yeah? i recommend doing the same for guns," you flashed the stolen one in front of her eyes before making a run for the house.

lee gave you some time to enjoy your fun and find a hiding spot. preferably somewhere close to the bedroom before she's had enough of her lessons being ignored.

so you'll have to learn a few. it's weekend after all.

[wiltedflowerpetals]

🪻 anon again!

And omg I loved the ask so much, thank you!!

👉👈 would I be able to ask for something with Fade, (Kinda specific here) whos S/O is secretly an enemy/kingdom agent, but when she looks into their nightmare she finds it's them losing her.

Ahhh, 🪻, thank you so much for the new request!! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the previous one! x3 And I'm so happy to have a Fade request! Fade is after all one of my fav agents aaahhh!! I also loved the angsty part of it, or at least I tried to write it a bit angsty! I hope that you liked this as well and have a great day!!💕

Words: 566

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty, kingdom agent and protocol agent are a couple, death, blood

⇢ You loved each other so damn much. More than words could describe your love

⇢ And you would do everything for her.

⇢ Except for one thing…

⇢ Telling her that you were a kingdom agent.

⇢ Yeah, she would probably hate be angry that you kept this important fact a secret, but who could blame you? You didn’t want to lose her, so of course you haven’t told the love of your life that you were actually her… enemy… Oops.

⇢ At first you were quite lucky. She never knew that and never question your sometimes weird behavior, as Fade thought that you were just a bit awkward. No big deal. That’s how you always were… right?

⇢ But luck wasn’t on your side on this day…

⇢ Fade often visited you at your place, so you could have lunch together or sleep in bed, after a long day, just like today.

⇢ “Canım, what’s wrong?” She asked you, as she sat next to you, holding her cup of coffee that she had prepared in a cezve a couple of minutes ago.

⇢ “Mh? Oh, nothing, Hazal.” You said, kissing her cheek. “Tamam, aşkım, but talk to me if you have any problems.”

⇢ You nod your head. Of course you will do it…

⇢ Not.

⇢ You were tossing and turning in bed, sweat dropping from your forehead, as the nightmare got worse.

⇢ “Aşkım…?” Fade opened her eyes, as she felt you move next to her.

⇢ As she looked at you, she knew that something was wrong.

⇢ A nightmare?

⇢ You usually didn’t have nightmares.

⇢ Your radiant girlfriend used her powers on you to see your nightmare and when she saw them, she was shocked.

⇢ Hazal saw you in your uniform that you always wore during missions for kingdom. You seemed to talk to someone and when Hazal went into your direction, she saw herself. You two apparently argued and then Fade heard a gunshot.

⇢ Somebody had shot her.

⇢ Blood escaped her wound, as she fell onto her knees.

⇢ You ran to her, holding her into your arms as you cried. Another kingdom agent has killed Fade and went away, leaving you there with your dead girlfriend in your arms.

⇢ You plead for her to stay awake, told her that you loved her and never wanted to lie to her. You never wanted this to happen. You hated it. You were scared. Not for yourself, but for her.

⇢ She realized it then, as you talked to her other self…

⇢ Your biggest nightmare came true.

⇢ Losing her was your nightmare and the reason why you never told her your secret.

⇢ Hazal’s eye teared up and the real Fade looked at your sleeping form

⇢ She slowly moved to you, hugging you tightly

⇢ “Canım, wake up… You are dreaming.”

⇢ Slowly you woke up from her touch, tears wetting your cheeks as you stared at her. “Hazal…?”

⇢ “You will never lose me.”

⇢ That was the day Hazal Eyletmez finally found out about her s/o’s secret.

⇢ And even though her s/o was her enemy, she promised to never leave them.

⇢ “But I’m a kingdom agent….”

⇢ “I know… But won’t have to breakup, because of our different affiliations…”

⇢ “I love you…”

⇢ “I love you too, canım.”

Can��m = "my dear," "my darling," or "my soul"

Aşkım = "my love"

🔖 Taglist: xxx

Masterlist ❀ Askbox/Requests ✿ Navigation

Reblogs and comments are appreciated. ( ‘ω’ )

© nanamisflowerfield/wiltedflowerpetals. Do not repost, rewrite, plagiarize my work.

[lightofraye]

you know, I come from a family of health professionals, my grandfather was a doctor, both my parents are doctors, my sister is a doctor and has her own clinic. aunts and uncles are doctors, nurses and dentists, some of my young cousins are on their way to become health professionals too. but not me, I chose a different path in life. but as you can see, I don't go around claiming to be an expert on medicine and capable of diagnosing illness and give treatments, just because my family is made of doctors. because I'm not a doctor and having a family of doctors, doesn't equal to having credentials. you are not a body language expert because you can speak sign language, you are just a bilingual person. and even if you were deaf, deaf people are not exempt of being biased and just seeing what they want to see. because they are just regular people with their own opinions and beliefs.

I never said I was an expert. Please. I even went back and reviewed what I wrote. Nope. No “expert” anywhere. Just said I have experience, layman’s experience. As deaf people do use and read body language better than hearing people. More, I’m a trauma survivor—which means we learn real fast how to read people so we aren’t in danger.

But hey! How about we go by what Jensen’s done and said? That one hug at con? He hugged Misha and then shoved him away. Joked about personal space and then immediately scooted away. Does Jensen touch Misha as much as he touches Jared? Are there fans witnessing Jensen being physically affectionate with Misha that we hear often of Jensen with Jared? Or with Danneel? Hell, on the red carpet, at Wales, we rarely see Jensen being physically affectionate with Danneel. And we never see or hear Misha on social media bragging about meeting up with Jensen or photographs… and you know Misha would brag. He can’t shut up half the time, which is why he’s in a hot spot now with his ex-wife over the kids, why he doesn’t have a job, and is desperately trying to get people to give him their data so he can sell it and make money.

Sure… I know nothing. 🙄

Keep trying, hellers. The only reason you’re darkening my anon ask box is because you don’t like the evidence I have. Because you know I’m right. But if you think I’m not, why are you here? I’m an anti Misha and I make no apologies over it. Go hang out with your fellow hellers and leave us alone.

[girlscience]

I have remembered why I don't like fanfic

[suntails]

I’m going to paint you a picture of modern communication, and how it is fundamentally broken.

Let’s look at one friend. You chat pretty much everyday, and mostly talk to this person on twitter and discord, with occasional tumblr DMs. That’s three places you talk. But that’s actually not true, because you also have each other’s priv twitters and talk there as well. That’s four. Now account for, let’s say, one post reply per account per person, in addition to your DMs. That’s eight. But that’s ALSO not true, because not only do you talk in discord DMs with each other, but you’re in a friend group server as well! And you talk in those channels together! That’s nine.

This is one friend.

Now look around you. How many friends, how many mutuals are you in contact with. A few, a handful, a dozen, more? How many accounts per person do you have, how many places can you send each other posts, devolve into separate topics and conversations? How many people text you as well. Friends, family, coworkers? What do you do day to day around catching up, what IRL commitments will rip you away long enough to let the pile build again?

I can’t do it. I cannot live an actual life in the real world and balance this much interaction, it’s crushing. I reply to a friend’s post because I’m interested in the subject, I want to have a discussion! I WANT to talk about it with them, but I immediately kick myself for adding another conversation to the pile. Day by day, I ignore messages for hours on end and watch mountains pile around me, to reply en masse at the end of the night to let the cycle repeat. I wake up to six discord DMs and as I clear the third, the first replies back again.

We weren’t meant to have thirty simultaneous conversations. We weren’t. And you know in your bones that the number isn’t an exaggeration.

[necrophiliak]

[seventeendeer]

finally got around to giving carol and the end of the world a try and this is definitely the meanest possible takeaway from only having watched one episode, but christ it's really serving "chubby introvert brunettes are the most oppressed people in the world" right out the gate huh

[celibibratty]

i thought reddit were more down to earth, no!, this is not being down to earth, they are just rude...just rude!/jerks!, it-was-only-supposed-to-be a text saying that the pak mei form should have on Nintendo switch.........i have a fucking fuss/fighting magnet for some fuckin reason on this shit💢🔥 anything I say on this shit site appears a bunch of motherfuckers to disagree or complain about something, trying to be the known at alls, don't mess with me, that i don't mess with you, if you gonna bite/come to me with bad heart shitty comments, i will bite you too(and i will bite HARD), don't try me, i not in my best state of spirit🔥💢, you so coward and dumbass that you need a bunch dumbass homies like you to defend your shitty behaviour/comments so you feel right/in power, whata hell, i just do/write things on my own little way if don't like/don't have patient to read it, FUCK YOU!, so you not the person to read this, it makes me feel sad how such a cool game like sifu attract such motherfuckers(come on ana i already know/notice that since the moment that the game released (february 2022), don't get so surprised, gamers/fight game community is shitty), stop, stop, stop with this, i used to thought the same thing with lis2 on 2020/weird diazcest and extremist anti phase, i shouldn't take this things from heart, shitty people will always exist on things that you like(it's not the things fault, don't blame them, Ana)

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

And my, my love had been frozen. Deep blue, but you painted me golden.

Warnings: 18+, mdni! there will be smut in the future chapters. enemies to lovers, 'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope, allusions to unrequited love, mentions of death, injuries, allusions to self hatred, mentions of bullying, this story is set post s4, Vecna and the upside down are gone. slow burn. ‘hate’ sex. fwb kinda thing but they’re ‘enemies’. mean!reader, mean!Steve, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

♡

Prologue ⭐︎

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I’m not around

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Chapter five ⭐︎'Cause you know it could never be

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Chapter seven ⭐︎ Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life

Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops

Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl

Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Chapter eleven ⭐︎ Yeah, I know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass

Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck

Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?

Chapter sixteen ⭐︎ Hold me, love me, touch me, honey

Chapter seventeen ⭐︎ What am I supposed to do? If there's no you.

Chapter eighteen ⭐︎ Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

Chapter twenty four ⭐︎ I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay

The Epilogue ⭐︎

[wisteria-lodge]

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.)  Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results: 

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)